Our Twilight Dreams
by LilyWhiteSnow
Summary: Sons of English aristocrats simply aren't allowed to be enchanted by stable boys, even ones with eyes like Alfred's. Especially not when they're betrothed to French Ladies like Frances Bonnefoy. Victorian AU.
1. Take My Hand

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Hetalia :( Beta reader is the awesome Miss-Carriedo x**

* * *

"Alfie! Wait!" the smaller boy cried out to his friend, stumbling after him. The hill was a lot steeper going down than he remembered it being when they had dragged the little cart up, winding it up the imaginary path, avoiding rocks and boulders along the way. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best hill to be racing carts on in the first place.

"Alfred!" Arthur's lip began to quiver slightly. His knee stung from where he'd cut it on a rock falling out of the wooden box as it tumbled downhill. In the distance, he could see his friend's blonde head bobbing up and down as the makeshift wheels came into contact with the bumpy ground. The other boy twisted his body round and gave Arthur a smile big enough to see even from half way down the slope. He waved his hand frantically.

"Come on Artie! Keep up-" He was cut off as the inevitable happened and the little box flipped, tumbling the small boy onto the ground. Arthur gasped, pain in his own knee forgotten, and ran even faster towards the stable boy.

Alfred was lying on his back shaking and for an awful moment Arthur thought his cheerful friend was crying, but as he got closer he realised, with a mixture of relief and annoyance, that they were sobs of laughter.

"Oh my God Artie! That was so fun, we should do it again!"

"You shouldn't blas-bean Alfred." The smaller boy said reproachfully, finally reaching Alfred's giggling form. Alfred stopped for a moment and stared up at his friend.

"I shouldn't what now?"

"Blas-bean. Miss Natalya said it's when you say mean things about God."

"I never!" the other boy sat bolt upright and scowled. "And don't you go telling Miss Natalya I did neither, you know she 'ates me as it is"

Arthur winced slightly at the other boys accent, it got thicker when he was angry. Alfred scrambled to his feet and brushed himself down. The front of his work dungarees had been ripped slightly.

"Oh well will you look at that," he sighed, "I'm gonna have to fix that before Cook sees and all. Why is it everyone at the manor hates me Artie?" Alfred stuck out his lip and managed to make Arthur feel like he should care for him like a lost puppy, even though he was a year older and a fair bit bigger than him.

"Gosh Alfred, they don't hate you at all. They just get angry when you break things, or trail dirt into the parlour. There, there chap!" He reached out his little six-year old hand and patted the other on the head, completing his little image of Alfred being a puppy. He could imagine Alfred as a puppy. Chasing his tail and running about knocking into the fine china.

"Come on, we'll take it to Matthew, he's jolly clever you know, he can fix anything!"

He checked his own waistcoat and tie were in their proper place before grabbing Alfred's hand and skipping back towards the manor. The cart lay broken where it had landed, a silhouette against the sinking sun.

* * *

_Ten years later._

"Arthur! Wait!" The jeering voices behind him were getting closer. Arthur was already panting, straining to reach the safety of... well of anything really. It seemed he hadn't gone down particularly well with the other boys at Holdram Towers. All right so he was smaller than your average teenager of his age and his eyebrows were stubbornly growing at an disproportional rate to the rest of his body. They also seemed to take up all his energy to grow hair anywhere else, as the other boys had been keen to point out in the changing rooms. Just as he thought it couldn't get any worse fate gave one last twist of the knife and the blonde teenager went sprawling onto the cobbled road. He didn't get long to admire the handiwork of the stone layer before several pairs of well groomed hands wrenched him up and shoved into the nearest wall.

"Oof."

The boys in front of him grinned, showing too many teeth for his comfort. He recognised the one holding him by the collar, although he probably could have guessed who it was by now anyway. Donald Bagshot. He was in year above him, but that didn't stop him from finding Arthur everywhere he went. Greasy black curls fell across maliciously glinting eyes that always managed to look down on people, even if they were twice his height. Then again, that would be a significant feat considering Donald was at least six foot. He also, Arthur had been given the liberty to notice, had incredibly large fists.

"What's wrong Arthur old fruit? Cat got your tongue?" The boy sneered at him, his friends sniggering in the background.

"Come on Arthur, show us your tongue." A fist crashed into the side of his face, making colours jump and dance in front of his eyes until they settled on a dizzying red hue. His mouth immediately tasted of cooper and he struggled to hold back the tears threatening to fall. He knew that would just make it worse. Donald pulled back his fist again as his friends steadied themselves for a frenzy of kicks. Cowering against the wall, he waited, but they never came.

"Oi!" A shout from the end of the street was enough for Arthur to be dropped to the ground. His tormentors hurried away, still laughing. The blonde saw none of this, sniffing into his drawn up collar and trying to get the red mist to clear from his eyes. Soft hands took his.

"Don't mind them toffs, I bet they ain't got nothing on you." Arthur slowly allowed himself to squint up at his rescuer. Of course it was Alfred. It always was.

"I'm quite well Alfred, you don't need to hold my hand." He huffed, but allowed himself to be pulled to his feet nonetheless. He bent down to pick up his cap and lay it straight on his head. Well, as straight as it could get over the matted locks that Miss Natalya complained about every morning.

"How did you manage to scare them off?" He asked, curious despite himself. "There were four of them and one of you." Alfred beamed at him, swinging the heavy metal hoof-clippers at his side.

"I reckon these are what done it."

"Did it." Arthur corrected, not able to stop himself. Alfred wasn't put off by it, reaching out his other hand to straighten Arthur's cap which had already slipped to the side.

"Looking dandy as ever Artie," he said, winking at the infuriated blonde. "Master Kirkland will get awful angry if you're late, last time he got so worried he sent the rozzers after ya, thought you'd been kidnapped and all. I told him it would be fine, what with me being a hero, but he didn't buy it, can you believe that Artie? Can ya?" Arthur had let Alfred's voice buzz into the comforting hum it tended to descend into as they made their way towards the manor.


	2. Utopia

The house seemed to get smaller and smaller as the years went by. It had been in the family for generations, an heirloom of sorts, passed down from son to son like a red brick photo frame. Romanesque marble pillars towered over pearly steps at the front with a myriad of thick-glassed windows scattered through the brickwork. A bit useless really, they were pretty enough but you had to crane your head to find the nearest square of glass not warped beyond recognition or blocked by frame.

It was from one of these windows that Arthur noticed someone watching him. They were too far away for him to recognise, besides, he'd struggle to see through those windows at the best of times. It could be any of his brothers, he supposed, or maybe Matthew. No, it was unlikely to be the Cook's shy son so far up in the house, the servants tended to hide downstairs, scurrying in between pots and pans. Yet, they didn't seem to have the dramatic flash of red he associated with his family.

He quickened his pace slightly, eyes still on the figure. Poor choice. Before he knew it he-commenced his close relationship with the ground. Honestly, he seemed to spend more time horizontal than vertical these days. Lunging forward to catch his cap before it landed unceremoniously in the cow pat, he took another look up to see if the person had seen his fall. There was no one to be seen. The window remained as bare and dusty as it had always been, with no sign of anyone having ever been there at all. Well that simply wouldn't do. Whoever it was had some questions to answer. He set into a run again, this time keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the ground.

"Arthur Kirkland!" He winced. That voice would echo in his head well into his adult life, he was sure of it. "Where have you been boy? Your clothes are filthy! And I hope you did not forget our afternoon reading lessons?"

Miss Natalya stood in the doorway, small pale fists clenched trembling at her sides.

"Sorry Miss Natalya." He started, respectfully dipping his head to the governess, "I... had to speak to a schoolmaster about some work."

"Did you now?" Her eyebrow quirked, clearly not believing a word of it. "Well," she straightened her bow that had slipped to the side in her anger "You best hurry up to the school room, your brothers have been waiting very patiently for you. I'll ensure your father hears of this."

Shuddering at the mention of his father the blonde clutched his school bag tightly to his chest and hurried past the infuriated Belarusian and through the dark corridors until he reached the safety of the schoolroom.

"About time you wee prick!" Arthur winced at the heavy tones. Really, they shouldn't have sent Alastair to boarding school in Scotland, he was butchering the English tongue.

"You mustn't swear Alastair, you know how much it angers Father." The milder tones of Iain wafted somewhere from behind a pile of books but were lost in Arthur's yelp as Declan and Alastair tackled him to the ground.

"Get off!" His brothers grinned down at him. They'd all been born within four years of each other, but that didn't stop his older brothers from treating him like the runt of the litter. Alastair was twenty, which was really too old to be mock-wrestling in Arthur's eyes, not that Declan was free of blame at the age of nineteen. Iain was seventeen, and still of schooling age like Arthur. It was decided long ago, however, that he was too mild to be sent to public school. The idea of Iain standing up to the likes of Donald Bagshot was laughable.

"What you got there _Artie_?" one of the red head's teased, Arthur wasn't sure which, his face being pressed into the plush green carpet. "Ooh, '_Alice's Adventures in Wonderland'_ well isn't that precious?" The book was plucked from his fingers and tossed over to Iain who caught it with his face. He blinked a few times, rubbed his nose, and picked up the missile.

"Father doesn't allow these modern books Arthur, he says they're detrimental to literature." He placed it on the far end of the desk, looking at it as if it were about to burst into flames at any second.

"Well what are you reading?" Arthur grumbled, finally slipping out from under Declan's body.

"Utopia." Iain's eyes lit up as he held out the book "It's by Thomas More."

Alastair snorted.

"Are you sure _Father_ approves of that Iain? It was written by a Catholic after all."

"I doubt father knows who Thomas More is." Iain said, frowning slightly and dipping his head back into the pages. That was the closest their brother ever got to insulting William Kirkland. As if sensing her master had been slandered Miss Natalya bustled into the room, narrowing her eyes at Arthur, although he couldn't be sure of that, her eyes always seemed to be narrow when they looked at him.

"Sit down." She snapped. "Arthur take off your cap, you aren't a labourer's son, you're a gentleman."

"Yes Miss." He muttered.

"Don't mutter." The others sniggered as he sat at his desk, hiding his eyes behind his fringe.

"Now then, we could all have left the schoolroom early today had it not been for Arthur's tardiness, so I expect you all to sit here until five o'clock."

"But Miss!" Alastair gasped "That's supper time, it will be dark by then!"

"Too bad Alastair, you can blame your brother, now heads down."

Arthur could feel the glares boring into the back of his scalp as he lent over the nearest book. Something about mathematics by the looks of it.

"I bet he was with Alfred." The whisper was low, but siblings had a special way of communicating in the presence of adults, and Arthur picked it up easily.

"Probably," Another voice hissed "They're very close, aren't they?" He heard stifled giggles and felt his ears redden.

"Perhaps they were kissi-"

"We most certainly were not!" he screeched, whirling round to glare at his snickering brothers.

_Thwack!_

A book smacked him sharply on the back on the head.

"Back to work Arthur! I can't imagine what would possess you to shout at your dear brothers."

"But-"

"Back to work!"

"It was-"

"Honestly!" The pale woman towered over him with that creepy stare that haunted his childhood. "I don't know what I did to get such an insolent student!" Somewhere in the background Iain made a quiet protest in Arthur's defence but it was drowned out by a passing fly.

"If I hear another word from you young man you will go without supper and be here until bed time, is that understood?"

Arthur scowled. "Yes Miss."

"Good." Miss Natalya swept back to her seat, sitting upright as a pole and staring relentlessly at Arthur as he pretended to care about quadratics or whatever the book was telling him. For about ten minutes there was peace.

"I wonder if the stable boy is the dominant one-"

"THAT'S DISGUSTING!"

"MR KIRKLAND!"

* * *

Arthur glowered at the quilt. It was far too bright for his current mood. All right, it was brown, but that was still too bright. He didn't even have the energy to muster a dramatic flop back onto the pillows, in a show of defiance against the world. His stomach let out a weak grumble. Thanks to Alastair's little "comment" Arthur had gone without food that evening, sitting in the school room until well past nine o'clock under the smug gaze of Miss Natalya. Thinking again of his brothers Arthur kicked the bedpost sullenly, pointedly refusing to wince at the pain in his foot when he did so. He sighed again, puffing out his bottom lip like a child. Speaking of children...

"Oi!" A hiss brought his attention to the window. "Let us in will ya? It's freezin' out here."

He couldn't see in the dark but he didn't need to. Who else would climb up to his bedroom window at this hour.

"Go away Alfred I'm not in the mood."

"That's the point guv, I brought you some cake from the pantry, you must be mighty hungry skipping dinner like ya did."

Arthur had crossed the room and thrown open the window at the word 'cake'. He grabbed Alfred by the collar and drew him into the room, barely missing the sharp window edges.

"Cake you say?" he hinted.

"That's right." Alfred smiled innocently at him, throwing his arms open for a hug. Arthur glared.

"Cake."

"Not one for pleasantries are you Artie?" he drew the bundle out from his cloth satchel, laying it out on the bed before clambering onto it himself. Arthur smirked at him, momentarily distracted from the promise of cake.

"You could be hanged for that you know."

"Wha'?" Alfred already had a mouthful of fruitcake.

"Sitting on a young gentleman's bed like tha- Alfred!" The other boy was tucking into the food at far too fast a rate for Arthur's liking.

"Well stop your yattering and eat something!"

"Fine." Arthur stormed over to the bed and shoved a cupcake in his mouth. With dignity, he might add. Alfred beamed.

"See?" He lay back on Arthur's sheets, tanned skin shining strangely in the moonlight that somehow filtered through the windows. His hair, darker and longer than Arthur's, splayed out below his head in a mockery of a halo. He was beau-

"You alright Artie?" Arthur had choked on a crumb of cake when he realised the direction his treacherous thoughts had been taking.

"Quite well thank you." Alfred thumped him on the back anyway, practically throwing him onto the floor.

"Yes Alfred, that will do."

"Right you are."

"ARTHUR!" Alastair's voice carried through the walls and both boys froze, Alfred's mouth comically wide, about to settle around another slice of cake. "You talking to someone?"

"N-no," Arthur stuttered, "Just reading to myself."

"Stop reading aloud like a babe, we're trying to sleep."

"Sorry."

Silence closed around them again.

"We? Who's he with?"

"I shudder to think."


End file.
